


Assisted Self-Care

by SewerRatTerrier



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Eating Disorders, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mental Health Issues, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SewerRatTerrier/pseuds/SewerRatTerrier
Summary: The reader has a hard time eating. Mammon helps. The author is bad at summaries.
Relationships: Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 182





	Assisted Self-Care

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for this fandom as I just recently got into it and really wanted to put out something for my baby Mammon's birthday (even if it's not birthday-related), so I hope this isn't too trash. The whole not eating thing is something I've had to deal with myself :')

Another day in the Devildom, another questionable school lunch. The year’s nearly up, and you’ve grown to love it there, but the food is one thing you’ll never get used to. Today it’s fried spider legs (a bit bigger than your fork in length) with a side of black-eyed peas—they actually vaguely resemble little eyeballs—and fire garlic garnish. You poke at the strange fare as there was a clatter of a tray next to you.

“Hey! How’s my favorite human doin’?” Mammon asks through a mouthful of food.

“I think Solomon is over there,” you mutter as your stomach growls. You haven’t eaten properly in a while, and it’s starting to take its toll. You sway in your seat as dizziness sets in.

Mammon blinks at you before setting a steadying hand on your shoulder. “Whoah, y’alright? ...When’s the last time ya ate?”

“...Uh. I don’t know,” you tell him lamely. Even back where you came from, you hadn’t always been the best at eating regularly. You brace for the verbal lashing that always comes when being forced to talk about it.

But it never comes.

Mammon just sighs and runs a manicured hand through his snow-white hair. “Want some’a mine? I’ll trade ya, even, ‘s long as ya don’t mind eatin’ after me. It’s stuffing and shadow goose. Pretend it’s chicken from the human world.”

You look at him briefly, wondering why he would even care. It has to be some ulterior motive—he’s probably going to ask you for cash or something.

“C’mon... I ain’t got all day, y’know,” he says as he pushes his tray toward you, but the softness in his tone betrays his actual words. His ocean eyes are pleading silently with you, and in that moment, Mammon almost seems more angel than demon.

“...Okay. Thanks,” you tell him as you swap trays. You take a small bite of the shadow goose, and it isn’t hard to imagine it as regular poultry.

“Atta human,” Mammon says with a grin, ruffling your hair as he starts eating. “Lemme know if ya need help; I’ll shovel it in that dumb, cute lil’ face myself. Y’know, cuz I’m just that great of a pal.”

You roll your eyes, but smile. “Really now? What if I were to take you up on it? Would you actually do it, and not be a chicken since we’re in public?”

The mere question seems to fluster Mammon a little, but he puffs up a bit in a show of indignance to cover it up. “W-Well duh I’d do it—why would I offer otherwise, huh? Sheesh... And don’t call me chicken. Nobody calls The Great Mammon chicken.”

“You’re chicken.”

“I’m not—!”

“Chicken.”

Mammon huffs, snatching the fork from your hand, stabbing the goose, and shoving it in your face. “Eat, ya lil’ shit.”

You snort, but accept the bite. As soon as you do, Mammon readies another, this time a bit calmer. You eat this too, repeating the process until the plate is clean. He also finishes off his new food in between.

“There ya go...” he says at last, even wiping your face for you despite the fact his own was fighting off a blush. “Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you, Mammon,” you tell him sincerely.

No one else has ever cared enough to actually help you through this—beyond yelling at you to eat something, which doesn’t really help at all—and a simple thank-you doesn’t feel like enough, but you can’t think of anything else to say. Actions speak louder than words, though, and you forcibly swallow your inhibitions to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Before he can say anything about it, you sling your backpack over your shoulder and scurry away toward your next class.

There’s a brief moment of shock when Mammon touches his cheek before bolting up and scrambling to chase you down.


End file.
